200.
My 31st Leaf
Obtained thee from up
Just a second gap
For years with a crowd
Holy float enshroud
“San Enchero” leaf
From a man on top
Near the icon's lap
Devotee clusters
Among churchgoers
Near highschool classmates
It's a holy day
It is Good Friday
At early evening
After float blessing
Twenty-Ninth of March
About church in front
Diagonal slant
Where people gather
Here banwa proper
One of the last floats
It's memorable
For I was able
To effortless pick
Now's so very quick
About one second!
-03/29/2013
(Dumarao)
*My Toladas Collection
Never write a poem about the sky,
she says,
that blue and blue and blue
interrupted by shape-shifters,
squawking crows, grumbling
aircraft.
It’s been done.
Besides, the day is tranquil,
disinclined to fuss.
The porch rails studiously etch
the sun into diagonal slats.
A silver spider practices ballet
across them
A chickadee chirps predictably.
If you could breathe and
see and know, she says,
all at once,
the glimmering line that bisects the air--
the one the spiders left behind--
the absence of wind, of wings,
of words—the morning itself,
woken with the slurp of ripe pears
and the ashes of a dream--
that would be your poem.
Oh my shadow, my closest companion !
Tell me , what’s your actual criterion?
Are you following me or I’m to follow ?
sometimes long, sometimes short, broad, wide or narrow !
You are to flee, when deep dense darkness to grow !
May be sideways, back -front, diagonal, below,
as light with me be capable to allow.
I can never catch you, you are fugitive.
Since I’m alive, in bright light you will survive.
But in dark, you will bid bye to me and leave.
Always playing Hide and Seek in morn and eve.
In dark, you are ready to go, I believe.
Doesn’t matter, whether you be at back or front !
It’s just too difficult for me to confront !
Diagonal Dory lived on an incline
She detested hearts, circles or a straight line.
Her name was perfect, exceptionally fine.
She served all of her food in a zigzag line.
Starting with the book move,
Hii, it's pawn to e-four.
Don't act like strangers,
You've seen this move before.
Now my knights came into play,
It's surely an awkward move.
You won't understand my intentions,
And it might hurt you out of blue.
Now I'm cluttered in this position,
And there's no trick under my hat.
But I'm a true and loyal player,
You better believe in that.
It's hard for me to open up,
And castling feels secure.
I've placed my gambit.
Now the next move is yours.
Your bishop slashed me at diagonal,
And i have no good counter,
You say she's not aiming my rook,
But its obvious for me to doubt her.
Between this hustle,
My queen is under threat.
I should have been more careful,
And tried to avoid this bet.
But now I finally realize,
No matter what trick you choose,
You're just a noob to your opps
It's the game you always lose.
I boil and seethe inside my owner's head.
For release, your collar, I'll have him seize.
I'll make him yell and scream and tear and shred.
He'll spit, "next time you make a sandwich, please -
do cut on the diagonal, instead".
works gore ate my face
benthic void with water devoid
clear as yesterday
petal wilts rose cloy
visage made a mockery
nocturne flicker shines
grin was a jester miles wide
silver on marble
fenestra waves smoky clouds
no one hears a thing
spin art next to me
gray half and half white
thin diagonal black line
three orb dots align
large pyre ball on top
grassy field green the middle
bottom azure speck
two gold trim darkness
Lewis got the eyes perfect
they stare at me now
Diagonal snow
Glides effortless through
the countryside of the
Amputee windshield
For the passenger side
Has always had a reticent view
Steam rises loftily
From a topless treat
Of gas station coffee
That which further
Obfuscates the scene
Mousey and silent
Each flake falls
Like the wings of
An owl unhurried
Speckling the air
With flurries of tiny
Feathers
If snow is a blanket, is the
Earth a frightened child?
Is there a force, a specter
So haunting it summons
A crystal storm that beguiles,
Sure, a burden to some
But a spectacle for all.
High beams undress
The night, slipping away
Its silken onyx sundress
In its unblinking gaze I
Recall conversations with
Someone I no longer see
Hoping for fireplace romance
Surrounded in snow globe scenery
I try not to live
in the squall of regret
Even if every drop
Falls so softly, I must
Simply keep my foot
On the petal, and listen
To the engine’s counsel
Its kind whispering pistons.
SPHERES
authors
of
sovereignity
with
prerogatives
reserved
situations
proclaimed
in
a visual
transpositionin
both
comprehensive
&panoramic
arrangements
repeatedly
seen
in the
intensive
&ornamental
the diagonal
absorbed by colour
so sensualso
& unrestrained
increasingly
engaged
the
contrast the
of function
in measured
decoration
qualitatively
refined
with a
style
as the measure
of independence
an
impression of depth
harmonies
so disproportionate
adorned
in different hues
with unsurpassable
with a
precision
ennobled
existence
scarlet streaks of fair haired beauty across my transparent window
eager inspection shows ribbons of orange a bubble of yellow
new hampshire’s elms, oaks and sycamores are bursting
I feel humbled by the ultimate painter’s canvas
this ethereal painting cannot be replicated by mere man
squirrel stands for one second; is he admiring the scenery?
he pounces on walnut and is immediately rolled by an opponent
they scamper up the tree’s bark in a diagonal dance
other seasons cannot hope to compete with beauty of November
Of all the games I’ve ever tried
The hardest one, I think, is chess
It leaves me dazed and half cock-eyed
Each time I play ~ Why, I regress!
The bishop moves diagonal
The knight, he hops and skips
The rooks, they slide rectagonal
The Queen and King, they give me yips
I marvel at these Russian kids
They take to chess ~ as ducks to water
I struggle to keep up with them
And brace myself to be slaughtered
My mommy says, “It’s just a game”
~ Yet that excuse sounds rather lame
And then I seen it, whilst looking down from a high
A peaceful uniform land, where residents don’t cry
Equal to all, perhaps finely embellished with love
Diagonal lines appear, as I descend from above
People stand about randomly, in a mysterious world
As this endless field of monoliths, now slowly unfurls
Only place where nobody, yet everybody gets along
It’s not utopia, but could well be, when we’re gone
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE
Sponsored by Brian Strand
06/01/22
I meander my way through the hills, noting the pretty violets.
Their daintiness delights me, so I sit, trying not to crush any.
An impossible task. While I am down here, I notice the morels.
My hand reaches past them to feel the bumpiness of the tree moss.
The sun has greeted me; I see a diagonal sun stream lighting the meadow.
I lean against the trunk of the oak and study the prettiness of this valley.
Since I was a child I always wanted to be a grandma and live in the country.
I never wanted to cook or bake, so I don’t.
I sit here, loving the sound of crickets.
Was that a frog? I get up to wander to the pond. There are minnows there.
I can practically feel the cool water on my fingers; I stare at my age spots.
When did I grow my grandmother’s hands? I wonder if I still have my freckles.
The ones grandpa used to tease me about when I was nine. I will look later.
Heart
Triangle
this of mine heart solid
Irregular inscribed diagonal pink
Double beating strategic oedipal
Heart pounding arresting songs beautiful
3/10/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022
George Seurat died too young
his pointillist angle had only just begun
to art,the diagonal&horizontal did bring
but the vertical however was never his thing
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